Finding Shelter
by CodependentLiza
Summary: Teenaged runaway Bella lands at a youth shelter run by Edward, who orchestrates her foster-care placement into his adoptive parents' home. The age difference makes for a very paternal E/B relationship, although E does dream of more, someday, and B would be happy for him to have it. Is that right or wrong? You decide, as all the usual suspects struggle with that ? too. AH, cc's


**_Hello, there. _**

**_I'm struggling to wade through the emotions of high-school Bella for the next chapter of "Sharks," (who made her so high-maintenance, I want to know?), so of course what am I doing but posting yet another new story instead of working on that one! _**

**_Actually, this baby is one of my older stories, and I'm posting it only because I had previously edited it to be presentable- by my modest standards-as a gift for a friend (yes, that would be Rebecca again, my patron saint of fanfiction). And also because by posting it I hope to shame myself into finishing it for her by way of finishing it for you. And finally because I'm aware that, for those of us who use fanfiction as emotional medication, new stories are always welcome because they bring with them new possibilities for igniting our own, more-satisfying variants of other people's fantasies._**

**_Which is, as I've previously mentioned, one of the ways I spark my own story-writing; along with my other strategies of taking a long-loved fantasy from my head and simply applying it to the Twilight universe (as I did with "First Class"…I've been dreaming of sitting next to the person who will fix my life for as long as I've been riding in airplanes, and yes, being jealous of the skillful attractiveness of the flight attendants for that long too), and searching in the world as I know it for situations in which a needy Bella can be thoroughly rescued by an affectionate, morally-reliable yet powerful Edward. _**

**_This story, like most of mine, is a hybrid of all those approaches. As such, a few words of thanks (or blame, depending on how you feel about this story) need to go to: _**

**_-The stupendous staff and residents of a shelter for runaway teens, located somewhere between the West and East Coast, and my place of employment for a wonderful year. I was blessed to find mentors there who made me feel stronger and more capable, and to get to know many young people whose own strength and capabilities have enriched my life in enduring ways—may you all have found people and communities to love you the way you so richly deserved to be loved. You're in my heart and mind always._**

**_-The psych professionals in my adolescence who didn't know how to help me but, in partnership with my loving but confused and overwhelmed family, cared enough to give it the old college try, and therefore incarcerated me more than once in a nice variety of psych wards. By doing so, they expanded my empathic and imaginative horizons to a whole new range of institutionalized people and situations, and liberated me from the burdensome social category of "normal." I am truly grateful, and I know they meant well. _**

**_On the other hand, if you have never experienced the terror of a locked door closing behind you, without your permission or the protection of a staff i.d. or other means of escape, I sincerely hope you never have the need of acquiring that particular perspective…while still managing to be sensitive to the lingering effects of surviving behind locked doors in other people's lives and behavior._**

**_-The author of a story, whose name has long been lost to the Swiss-cheese structure of my brain, in which Edward manages a youth shelter. The descriptions, experiences and emotions of this story come from my own life, or my imagination, or both, but placing Edward in the role of shelter manager is a gift I pass on to you from this other writer, whom I thank wholeheartedly (despite having forgotten her screen name). _**

**_If anyone knows which fanfic I'm talking about and cares to message me with the title or author, I would be grateful for the assistance. [I've searched unsuccessfully, but did find an old favorite to recommend: Shelter by moirae…so good!] I remember thinking the story I'm searching for was well-written and enjoyable, but didn't read much of it as it was an Edward-Leah love story and therefore left precious Bella adrift in the universe. I'm glad the author wrote it that way, because who deserves some loving Edward more than Leah [and if you want a Leah-friendly read that keeps the Edward-Bella pairing, try "High Fidelity" by IReen H—it's fabulous!], but I have to calibrate my fanfiction intake carefully so as not to mess with its medicinal effects, and that means ExB baby—unless we're talking the occasional steamy foray into ExJ (Raw and Rosy by tuesdaymidnight – very hot in a very mature way) or ExC (there's a couple stories I love, but I have to search them out again—will tell you later)._**

**_So, the story to follow comes from connecting the idea of Edward running a youth shelter (thank you, whoever you are) with my own awareness of how much a vulnerable, adolescent Bella in residence at such a shelter would hero-worship an Edward who was working there. This brings up an issue with this story that's even stickier in my view than the ownership of story ideas: the ethics of an adult Edward authority figure becoming involved with an underage Bella._**

**_Ah, the philosophical treatise masquerading as an author's note I could/want to write on this issue! But I will stuff it, and limit myself to the following points:_**

**_*The most important moral considerations are, in my opinion, somewhat independent of legal definitions of adulthood, although since those definitions affect the balance of power in a relationship, they certainly do matter._**

**_*I am opposed, and growing more so with every passing year, to the manipulation of younger people by more-experienced adults (especially authority figures) who meet their psychological needs (not just, but certainly including, sexual needs) first before considering the well-being of the younger/less-experienced/less-powerful parties. If this sounds hedge-y, that's because it is. My visual field is chronically gray (as opposed to black-and-white) in my understanding of the universe, and I'm also aware as a parent how easy it is to use children to meet psychological needs without seeming the least bit socially-inappropriate to an uncareful observer. Glass houses, dear readers—glass houses! _**

**_*I think that the human contradiction outlined in point two (manipulating people with less power than ourselves for our own gain is ethically problematic but we all probably do it, albeit to varying degrees) is best resolved practically-speaking by applying an Ann Landers approach to decision-making. For those of you too young to have "known" her via her pen-and-ink likeness (such a cheerful face) in the morning newspaper, Ann Landers had an oft-repeated decision-making schema for answering the question of whether a person should leave a relationship or not: "Are you better off with him [or her], or without him [or her]?" In this situation, we can apply that question to the young person, and ask of our underage Bella, is she better off with Edward, or without him? We can also push our Edward to weigh his own actions on the same scale—is what I'm doing going to help Bella, or hurt her?_**

**_In my universe, asking that last question is what makes Edward, Edward…and what makes Twilight (and most of the stories spun off of it) a fundamentally adult book! I know I'm not the only one who read Twilight for the first time with a distinct sense of unease about whether I should be rooting for Bella's relationship with Edward, or against it. The dynamics of their vampire-human love story contain metaphors for and symbols of our relationship with the divine, but also symptoms of domestic abuse. The intellectual sophistication and experience needed to tease out what one believes to be the fundamental nature of their interactions and come to a reasoned conclusion about their morality or even desirability is a philosophical exercise of a high order, and not something I would want a child coming to conclusions about on her/his own! _**

**_So there you have it—why I wrote this story combined with reasons I might have arguably better left the topic alone. Hopefully, in the end it will seem, Candide-like, as part of the "best of all possible worlds" for you, and for me. And if not, well, it can be like my favorite "Demotivators" poster: a sinking ship whose purpose is to serve as a warning to others. Blessings! xo liza _**

**Disclaimer: As always, all things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer, and all the neuroses are mine (except, of course, those belonging to Edward). My thanks also to the fanfic author who first figured out that a human Edward might take exceptional care of psychologically-wounded teens—which is most fitting seeing as the canon Edward spent over a century being one himself. **

**XXXXXX**

It was half-way through a morning of grueling paperwork – yes, paperwork can be grueling; _you_ try meeting state and federal regulations on a youth shelter not to mention figuring out menus other than pb&j at every meal with a shoestring budget and four different kids with food allergies to consider – when the black & white with Connie, my social worker friend, showed up.

I hadn't been expecting them until after lunch, when Isabella would be working in the office as usual, but Connie had been tapped to execute a child protective order in a notorious crack house that afternoon and had just managed to get out of her office to attend to Isabella first. Luckily for me, she was also friends with Judge Rudolph, and had already called in to the judge's clerk asking for a slight juggling of the docket for the day.

So, time to get Isabella.

After logging out of the computer, speaking with Pam about a couple issues needing attending to in my absence and giving my appearance a cursory one-over – it had been a while since I'd worn a tie to work, a dead give-away to the rest of my staff this morning that something unusual was going down – I strode up the stairs to the top-floor schoolroom to pull Isabella out of class and, if all went as planned, out of her precarious life here at the shelter.

All heads swung towards me as I entered the room, and several kids started snickering right away as they caught sight of my uncharacteristically formal appearance.

On cue, Bella started blushing, as she always seemed to do when I appeared. She was at a corner desk, going over some math material with one of the younger kids, obviously showing him how it was done. The younger ones loved her. She read books out loud (much to the derision of the older residents, although more than once I'd caught even Lauren and Conner listening in), she was generous with hugs (technically verboten but like many other of the shelter rules, staff tended to overlook them when Bella was involved seeing the sincere, non-sexual affection with which they were offered and received), and very good at comforting when tears flowed. I felt badly for the more vulnerable residents who would be missing her after today, but not badly enough to keep from getting her out of here and somewhere safe. She deserved to be safe.

And with that thought, I walked over to where she sat, put a hand on her thin shoulder, and said quietly, "Come with me, Bella; you've got an appointment." She looked up at me, confused and questioning, but obediently pushed back her chair and stood up while making apologies to the young boy – Corey, I'd have to be sure to check in on him over the next few days – she'd been helping. Next she started to head to the teacher, to ask permission to leave I suppose, but I cut her off and simply steered her to the door, my strong hand still resting heavily on her small shoulder.

I waved to Lyla, the teacher, and said, "We're heading off-campus. Pam's in the office if you need her. See you at the staff meeting this afternoon." Lyla just nodded, engrossed in trying to remedy eight years of educational neglect in the life of our newest resident, and Bella and I were out the door.

Once the door closed behind us, I slipped my hand off her shoulder and reached down for her hand, then led her down the two flights of stairs to the main door. I buzzed us out, Pam wishing me good luck over the intercom, and then we were face-to-face with the cop leaning against the squad car and Bella tried to bolt. Well, first she froze, _then _she tried to bolt, turning around to head back in to the shelter. But after seeing the door was closed and locked behind us, she turned to face up the street and strained desperately at my hand which was firmly clasping her own, trying to run.

"Shhhhh, Bella, don't panic," I said as I reached around with my other hand and grabbed her free arm. She was starting to hyperventilate already, so I pulled her close, standing in front of me, and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You need to trust me. Can you do that?" This calmed her down a bit, although for response all I got was a small little head nod as she bit her lip. But at least she stopped trying to run away.

Connie was by then out and holding the door of the squad car open for us, gesturing for me to slide in with Bella. I did so, dragging Bella along behind and situating her in the middle while Connie got in on Bella's other side, closing the door and effectively trapping her between us.

I kept Bella's hand in mine all the way to the courthouse, rubbing what I hoped were soothing circles with my thumb on the back of her hand. She kept her eyes down, staring at her knees, and I knew she was trying to escape in her head. By prior agreement, Connie and I said nothing about the hearing, instead engaging in small talk about mutual friends and reminiscing about the past.

It wasn't long before the squad car was pulling up to the back entrance of the courthouse. By this time, Bella was panicking again, and it took some exertion on my part to get her out of the squad car.

Finally, I had to reach in with both hands and grab her around the waist, pulling her out and up against the front of my body, then picking her up under the knees and around her back when she flat-out refused to walk. Having her in my arms triggered her to seek comfort and me to give it, as always with her, so in a split-second she had her arms wrapped around my neck and her face buried against my chest. I murmured soothing words to her about everything being OK and her being safe with me, and strode after Connie who was already half-way to the elevator bank.

We were silent on the ride up to Judge Rudolph's chambers, Bella still hiding and me just holding her tight. As we approached the door we were to enter, I slowed to a standstill, then said to Connie, "Go ahead; we'll be right there."

She gave me an intense stare, almost making me panic that she would see through to the worst of my inappropriate-but-never-acted-on thoughts about Bella and pull out of our arrangement right then and there. Luckily, she must not have seen that far or she wouldn't have smiled at me and said, "Don't be late. You don't want to piss off the judge," and turned to walk through the door leaving Bella and me alone in the hallway.

"Bella," I said quietly and slowly, nudging her head a bit with my chin. "Bella, sweetheart, I need you to sit up and pay attention to me for a minute." I waited, knowing she couldn't help but do what I asked, and sure enough a few seconds later she grudgingly lifted her head off my chest, though she kept her eyes firmly fixed down. I chuckled softly and said "You're really stubborn, you know that?"

She smiled sweetly, and blushed, and moved in towards me again with her head. I swear she could spend weeks – months, maybe – just snuggled against me, and God help me, nothing would make me happier. But that couldn't happen under current circumstances, which is why I needed to get my head in the game and fix things so it could.

The allure of that thought, unrestricted cuddle time with Bella, made me fiercely efficient as I carefully lowered her feet to the floor and helped her to stand. She looked at me then, hurt in her eyes, and I reached up to touch her face gently with my hand; the other hand reached out and found one of her wrists, circling it firmly. I would take no chances on an escape attempt right now.

"Bella, this is important. I know what I'm going to ask you to do will be difficult for you, but I promise that you will be glad you did it when it's over. And I promise not to leave your side for a second."

She looked scared now, her imaginings probably far worse than reality could ever be. "What do you want me to do, Edward?" she asked in her breathy, fearful voice. She had no idea how alluring she was.

"Just stand up straight, sit when I tell you to, and follow my lead. We're going in the office there," I indicated the door with my head, "to meet with some people about your future."

Her eyes widened a bit at my last statement, and she said "Am I in trouble?"

That's my Bella, always assuming she's done something wrong. I could kill her parents.

"No, sweetheart, of course you're not in trouble," I reassured her as patiently as I could manage.

She responded with a half-hearted "Oh," not believing me I could tell. I sighed, realizing there was no way I could adequately reassure her right now. The reassurance she craved came in the form of words I could not speak to her as her current legal guardian, or more like custodian. The policy and statutory confines in which I operated in relationship to her prevented me from actively guarding her the way I'd like, and relegated me to a more janitorial role, ensuring – indirectly, of course, given our opposite genders – that she was clean and fed and exercised, more or less.

But I wanted more and not less. Much more. More than she could imagine or I could allow myself to dwell on or even consider for years. And chances were that well before I could allow myself to consider loving Bella Swan the way I wanted to, the way she deserved to be loved, someone else would steal her heart and innocence away from me.

At least with the changes I hoped to cement today, I would be able to really guard her; actively protect her from any unworthy suitors and all other heartache. Give her everything I could of my (chaste) love, (utter) devotion and (sizable) resources. That was enough. For now.

Realizing there was nothing more to be said that wouldn't freak her out more, I simply turned on my heels and headed to the door, pulling her along behind me. She followed me a bit reluctantly, resisting more as we passed through the doorway into the antechamber and she saw the judge's secretary facing us, looking official, and then took note of the several other people spread across the waiting area. Connie, of course, and my family's lawyer Demetri. Also someone I was unfamiliar with, presumably the state's lawyer from DCFS who mercifully was engaged in a friendly-seeming conversation with Connie. The Child and Family Services lawyer was a wild card, and I said a quick prayer that he would not object to my plans.

Then I saw the older, affluent- and happy-looking couple sitting in the corner, and waved, giving them a cheerful grin. They grinned back, their eyes crinkling as they appraised the beautiful girl cowering behind me and appeared pleased with what they saw. I had never been happier that I had held on to the name of my birth parents when they adopted me, so I could walk over to them and shake their hands, greeting them as Mr. and Mrs. Cullen without appearing to be a total jackass. They returned my formal greeting, my father adding a wink and saying "Nice to see you again, Mr. Masen."

Maybe we were overdoing it a bit because I caught Connie rolling her eyes at me – she knew who my parents were and I thanked God I hadn't tried to pull the wool over her eyes with my master plan because she would have eviscerated me on the spot. Instead, she just shook her head at my ridiculous soft spot for the sweet and lovely Isabella, and probably would have a laugh or two at my expense over drinks tonight with friends.

Bella at this point was so scared she was visibly shaking, so as I pulled her forward to introduce her to "Mr. and Mrs. Cullen" (she had met Esme at the Center several times before, but I guessed Bella was too anxious right now to recognize her as a familiar face), I quickly slipped out of my suit jacket and draped it over her narrow shoulders.

Bella seemed not to notice at first, but then I saw her wrap the jacket tighter around her, like a blanket, as she struggled to look up at my parents. She did finally make hesitant, terrified eye contact with my mom, and the effect was immediate. Esme swooped in, engulfing Bella in a giant hug, and Bella fell into her, holding so tightly around my mother's waist it was like she was a drowning person gripping a life preserver in dangerous seas. Which was a perfect analogy for Bella's life and my mother's intended role in it.

Just at that moment, the door to the inner chambers opened and the clerk holding it open announced "Judge Rudolph will see you now." Everyone in the room stopped talking and turned to look at Bella, who was mercifully unaware of being the center of attention, and simply holding on tightly to my mother, soon to be her foster mother though she didn't know that yet.

My mom leaned down and whispered something to Bella, I strained to hear but couldn't catch what it was, then Bella nodded and straightened some, dropping her arms from around my mother's waist and allowing Esme to take her hand firmly in her own. Esme then walked purposefully through the doorway, towing Isabella behind, my dad – looking slightly bemused – bringing up the rear.

When they were gone, the rest of us resumed motion and, gathering up belongings where necessary, followed suit by heading in to get down to business, all small talk and conversation forgotten with the need to make efficient use of the judge's time, and to get back to all the other responsibilities facing each of us that day. As a result, the hearing was so efficiently brief as to almost be ludicrous.

Helping along this necessary efficiency was the fact that most of us knew one another by reputation, if not personally. My father, for one, was the head of the surgery department at the most well-regarded area medical center, and my mother was on more non-profit boards than I could keep track of. They had raised not just myself, their orphaned nephew, but my brother and sister—their own biological children—as well. They also were true parents, not just mere in-laws, to Rosalie and Jasper, who came along in high-school and were now my siblings' spouses.

No one would dare to question the Cullens' capability to care for one shy adolescent girl, and the explanation given for their seeking out her custody – that my mother had come into repeated contact with her at the shelter and had been touched by her personality and her plight – had the benefit of being not only believable but true, if only part of the whole story.

There was one tense moment when it might have all gone badly awry. The judge, having obtained the professional judgments from all the concerned parties in the room, including me, and having heard the testimony from my parents about their willingness and ability to care for Isabella, turned to Bella herself and asked, intending to be kindly I'm sure but sounding just as stern and officious as always, how she felt about the plans for her custody to be transferred to Dr. and Mrs. Cullen.

And then there was silence. My poor Bella just stared up at the judge, panicked into muteness, being totally unsure what she was supposed to say and equally uncertain how to please everyone in the room plus the hyper-judgmental authorities residing inside her brain.

The judge, looking puzzled, repeated her question. When she still got no answer and Bella looked on the verge of either running away or passing out, I jumped in.

"Your Honor, if I may interject, Isabella is extremely shy and often has difficulty speaking aloud in stressful situations. If you asked her to write her response, she might fare better," I explained.

Judge Rudolph cocked her head and looked intently at me, then went for the jugular. "How is it you are aware of this and yet indicated no current psychiatric issues of record in your report?"

I swallowed my honest reply, which would have been, "Because I care far too much for Isabella to allow her to be within 20 miles of the hacks that pass for psychiatrists and therapists in the free clinic that shelter kids go to," and neatly substituted, "I've seen no indication that it is anything other than a personality trait, albeit a strong one. She is able to form deep and meaningful relationships with individuals when she has time to get to know them; indeed she is one of the most easily-attaching people I've ever known. She _is _unusually fearful, but as that quality seems commensurate with her past history of neglect and abandonment combined with an innately shy personality, I haven't felt the need to pathologize it."

I might have overstepped there, obliquely criticizing the judge's response to Isabella's behavior, but Bella saved the day when she finally spoke up. "Please don't get mad at Mr. Masen, Your Honor," she said, moved to confront her terror by her affection for me. I felt high with joy. "It's my fault; I'm sorry for seeming so rude. I couldn't think what to say. It is so kind of the Cullens to offer to take me in, but I'm afraid it will be a, a really big burden, and so I hate to say I want to go with them, because I don't want to be selfish and cause them problems." She sounded so earnest, so childlike, so not like a modern teenaged girl, she was captivating to more than just me.

There was dead silence once more in the room, and just as I was strategizing what to say to encourage the judge to override Bella's selfless objections, Bella started up again, more hesitantly this time. "But of course I do, I want to go with them; I can't think of anything that would be more wonderful than...um, living with them."

She said the last part so shyly and quietly it was hard to make out, and I had the strong suspicion – no, the intuitive knowledge – that it was a lie. She _could_ think of something more wonderful, as could I, but she didn't think it would be polite to be anything but positive about the intentions of my parents. And she would never choose to be impolite to someone offering her a kindness, even though I was fairly certain that, without knowing about our family connection, she would rather stay at the shelter with me than go to live with them. For once, her habit of putting other people's feelings before her own was going to be made to serve her own best interests.

I allowed myself a little bit of self-congratulation before Bella picked up with more volume again and offered, "Esme, I mean Mrs. Cullen is so nice; she took me to go clothes shopping when I first got to the shelter, and she brings me new books to read and helps me braid my hair – the braid always falls apart when I do it. I try to learn from her so I can figure out what I do wrong, but while she's braiding she talks about her family and what they're like, and I get so interested I forget to pay attention." That was Bella: total silence and then total verbal outpouring. She was not a girl with much middle ground. I had to bite my lip to keep an inappropriate grin from forming at her rambling response, and I saw Connie doing the same.

The judge sat back a little, and after one quick eye-narrowing at me, letting me know how close I'd come to being officially called on the carpet I guess, she turned her attention back to Bella and asked a couple more questions. Then, seeming pleased with the now loquacious responses Bella gave her, she declared Bella's custody to be transferred temporarily into the hands of Dr. and Mrs. Carlisle Cullen, with a 6-month case review scheduled and an option for permanent adoption at one year should all parties agree.

As soon as the judge rose, immediately followed by all present, the leave-taking began, and in two minutes flat the only individuals left in the room besides me were the judge's clerk finishing her notes, my mom and dad, and Bella.

Connie had given Bella a quick hug and wished her well, before telling Carlisle and Esme that she would look forward to checking in with them by phone in a couple weeks' time, and handing over a business card should any questions come up before then. In-person visits were almost certainly mandated by law in this situation, but Connie, operating with a caseload that had never been conceived of let alone considered by the legislators making that law, was unlikely to see my family in person again before the next court date, unless she had reason to believe it was necessary. She had then flown out the door to attend to the child welfare investigation she had looming.

Bella was now sitting quietly again, staring at her hands, while my mom stared at her and my dad stared at my mom. I stared at all of them for a few moments, then roused myself and approached, bracing myself for a leave-taking from Bella that would be intense and painful for her I knew. For Bella still didn't realize that by becoming a Cullen foster child, she was gaining me for a foster brother.

I hadn't thought this part through at all, I realized as I stood there trying to find the words to break Bella's heart. I couldn't appear to be anything other than a distant, temporary, state-appointed guardian at the end of my term of responsibility here in the courtroom, still within earshot of people with the power to revoke the brand-new custody arrangement I'd conjured up for my favorite little girl.

As I hesitated, floundering, Esme – God love her – stepped in with the perfect solution. "Mr. Masen," she said with a big smile and a wink in my direction, "won't you walk us out to the car? I know you have to get back to the shelter, but I think Isabella could use a few minutes for adjusting to this new situation before she says good-bye to you and the life she's known the past few months."

I grinned with relief at my brilliant mother, and said easily, "That's a great idea, Mrs. Cullen. Just let me grab my things." And just like that, we moved en masse out of the office and into an alluring future in which I would be free to care for Bella with intensity and depth and maybe, one day, passion.


End file.
